


Gimli, a Dumbass

by LouPF



Series: Walking in Starlit Fields (and Memories) [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gimli joins the Company, POV Third Person, set during the Hobbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 14:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: In hindsight, running into Erebor after Bilbo might've been a mistake.





	Gimli, a Dumbass

In hindsight, following Bilbo into Erebor might have been a mistake.

It is not the vast amounts of gold that makes Gimli child of Gloin realize this. Neither is it the revelation that Bilbo has a ring that makes the wearer invisible. No, Gimli thinks, it’s rather because of the ginormous dragon breathing fire down their necks.

He’s trembling – _shaking _– in terror, blood turning to ice in his veins. Smaug has smelled him – has seen him, for he has no ring like Bilbo’s –

Gimli has felt the weight of those terrible, terrifying eyes seeing him and him alone. Staring him down. Toying with him.

“_Ah, I see_,” that dreadful, dark voice had rumbled after Gimli lost sight of Bilbo. “_They are scared… afraid… so they send in the young ones. The children, desperate to prove themselves; to pick up… **weapons**_.” Smaug had laughed, and it had reverberated down Gimli’s spine. “_They cast you aside. Worthless.”_

And now they’re bolting, Gimli beside Bilbo, just half a head shorter than him, coins falling aside beneath their feet. “Gimli!” Bilbo cries, casting a look at him that screams of white-tinged horror. “Gimli, _duck_!”

Gimli does not ask, only flings himself to the floor, tugging Bilbo down after him. A great roar and a choking heat rolls over them, and Gimli muffles a cry. They roll away, keeping low to the ground before stooping behind a pillar. Bilbo is on his feet in an instant, pulling Gimli up and bolting for the exit.

Even as he follows – even in his blind panic – Gimli knows something is wrong. His face is set aflame, and even though it is, his chin is too light, is too cold –

He doesn’t have to feel to know half his beard is gone, and he can’t quite muffle the cry, this time, hand flying up to touch the strands still crackling off. “My beard,” he chokes, but he can’t say more, for Bilbo is tugging him along, and they’re running up a corridor, Smaug’s furious roar following their wake.

Up ahead is a body of running dwarrow, weapons raised and expressions worried. One of them tears ahead, flinging away his weapon as he goes. “GIMLI!” he cries, voice cracking. “Gimli, star, Gimli, don’t – ”

“Adad,” Gimli breathes, and he runs to meet him half-way, slamming into him and clutching, clutching – “_Adad_!” The tears come, then, the terror and fear building up. He sobs, holding adad closer, closer, and he survived he’s alive, he’s _alive_!

“Oh, Gimli, Gimli, I was so scared,” adad whispers, muffled by Gimli’s hair.

Adad pulls back, and his eyes go wide, hand coming up to cradle Gimli’s jaw. “Your beard,” adad whispers. And then he bursts into tears.

*

After everything – after they ran, after they fought, after Smaug fell –

After everything, Gimli lies close with Bilbo. Had he asked, he knows every single dwarf of the company would have offered to share their bedroll with him. Even Thorin.

He does not want every single dwarf of the company. He wants Bilbo, who felt his fear. He wants Bilbo, who saw Smaug so close, who felt the fire at his back, who thread the same coins as he. He wants Bilbo, and Bilbo wants him, and they lie huddled close together, Gimli’s head tucked into Bilbo’s neck, Bilbo’s legs tangled in Gimli’s.

They’re shaking. Whether it be Gimli, or Bilbo, or both. They’re shaking.

“It’s alright,” one of them says, and Gimli isn’t sure who, “it’s over, she’s dead.”

Gimli shuts his eyes and breathes. _She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead._

Later, the next day, Gimli hides away to mourn his beard. It was not much, but it was enough to braid his gender braid and half his family braid – and now it is gone.

Bilbo finds him cupping his chin and weeping.

“Gimli,” he says, gently moving his hands away from his face. “Will you tell me what it means? A beard? What this meant?”

Gimli sniffs, meets Bilbo’s worried gaze and begins to explain.

(he says, too, that to other dwarrow it might not mean so much, but it’s all Gimli has, it’s all he is, his gender is such an important part of him, and he feels _naked_)

Bilbo talks to Ori, later, and when Gimli goes to bed that night, he’s knitting furiously. Two days later he presents him, proudly, with a knitted beard. It’s woollen and coarse and perfect, and it fits Gimli like a charm, and while it doesn’t look like a beard unless from a distance, it covers up his skin. After explaining the design of it to Bilbo, his gender braid is tucked into place, as well – half hair, and half yarn, and Gimli solemnly declares that he is indebted to Bilbo forever.


End file.
